


A Fool's Wine

by HeartlessAngel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessAngel/pseuds/HeartlessAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apple pie is a novelty to some and Hawke is aware of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fool's Wine

* * *

The people of Hightown made no secret of their disapproving stares at Fenris while he made his way to Hawke’s estate midday. Fenris pulled at the rem around his left wrist keeping his gauntlet in place. Anything to not have to meet their questioning glares. Only the Maker knew why he even bothered with this. Awkward didn’t begin to describe his relationship to Hawke since that fateful night of utter cowardice on Fenris’ part. He had relived that night behind closed eyes more times than he was willing to admit, more times than he thought himself worthy of reliving. Hawke had yet to turn his back on him. Instead he had taken to sending messengers to him with short, supposedly, easy to read messages. It had taken Fenris a moment to decipher the chicken scratch Hawke passed for writing.

_Join me for lunch, Fenris! It will be worth your while._

    Lunch was scarce enticing enough to convince Fenris to walk through Hightown, but his heart was still soft and his need for company unbearable. Seeing his name in Hawke’s chicken scratch had made him look down on his chest with the suspicion that his hand was clenching around said heart. Hawke’s promise of giving Fenris more than one  problem had been no jest.

    Orana greeted Fenris at the door and asked him to follow her. Bodahn greeted Fenris heartily, a long story imminent at the tip of his tongue, but a sudden shout from Sandal gave Fenris and Orana the chance they needed to hurry to the basement floor. The air in the kitchen was warm. A lush, mouth-watering scent of caramelised apples welcomed Fenris and Orana. Fenris searched the room with curious hunger to find the source of this divine scent. His eyes fell on Hawke and the fruit bowl beside him. The bowl on the kitchen island was half full with red apples Hawke had not used for the freshly baked concoction he had pulled out of the oven and put near the bowl.

    “Master, Serah Fenris has arrived for lunch.”

    “Thank you, Orana. Could you ask Bodahn and Sandal if they would like a slice?”

    “Certainly, Master.” Orana bowed before she hurried out of the kitchen.

    Fenris brought his hand to the side of his mouth absently and swallowed hard.

   “I’m glad you decided to join me, Fenris. Have a seat.” Hawke smiled and showed him a high stool across from him. “I overheard Aveline talking about a ship coming in from Ferelden. It had a shipment of the finest apples I’ve seen since the Blight ended. You like apples, don’t you, Fenris?”

    “You know I do. What is that?” Fenris closed his eyes to breathe in the scent now that he sat closer.

   “This is an apple pie. Mother’s recipe. I’ve never been able to make it with apples from Free Marches, they are too soggy and not nearly as sweet.”

  “A pie? Like the minced pie from the Hanged Man?” Fenris wrinkled his nose. No scent as appealing as this could hide atrocities like the minced pie from the Hanged Man, surely.

   Hawke laughed. “No, it’s nothing as devious as that. This will actually remain in your system until nature calls.”

    “Charming,” Fenris smiled.

    “Care for a slice?” Hawke asked and carefully placed a generous slice on a dark blue plate.

    “I didn’t parade through Hightown for giggles.”

   “Are you sure you didn't? I recall Varric offering you shoes to have people stop looking at you for walking around barefeet. You declined.” Hawke slid the plate over to Fenris along with a spoon.

    “He offered me high heels," Fenris reminded him. "There isn't enough wine left in the mansion for me to pull any stunt of the sort."

    "As a bet then?" Hawke asked, grinning from ear to ear. He poured thick curd on top of Fenris' pie.

    "I would have to be well gone in mind to agree to it. Maybe if the choice stood between mince pie and high heels."

    "I'll keep that in mind for next night of Wicked Grace."

    Somewhere along the way, Hawke had made it a habit to include Fenris in his plans for the future. Be it for leisure or work. Fenris had made attempts to ignore it, to not grow attached. Hope was a fool's wine. Fenris had not intended to drink it, let alone inebriate himself with it. Yet, he couldn’t stop sipping on this wine in Hawke’s company. He had begun to relish in listening to Hawke counting on his presence and make him part of the supposedly mundane.

    Fenris had a first bite. The apple pie was made as though for the gods. Even the Maker would find himself drooling like a mortal. Fenris had not known any apple as deliciously sweet as these. The marriage between the condiments, the fruit and the thin crust of the pie was too good to be of this world. Then a thought struck him; maybe this wasn’t from this world.

    “Did you use magic to make this?” Fenris asked, unintentionally speaking with his mouth full all the while having a spoonful of pie ready.

    “What are you accusing me of, Fenris?” Hawke asked playfully.

    “Did you… enchant the fruit?”

    Their eyes met for a split second. Hawke was smug and though he tried to hide it, Fenris saw it clear as day. The small smile gave him away and Fenris feared his blush, in turn, would give him away, too. Before Hawke could notice, he leaned forward to put his elbows against the side of the kitchen island and missed. Sheepishly, Hawke straightened himself, cleared his throat and dusted off the flour from his forearms.

    “You wanna see how it’s done? I can show you. Before you know it, you’ll be making baked goods yourself.”

    “I don’t do magic,” Fenris managed to say from behind his hand and past the pie in his mouth.

   “This is man-made, I assure you.” The smugness was back on Hawke’s face as if he hadn’t nearly scraped his beard off against the edge of the kitchen island. Fenris’ chuckle only encouraged him. “Would you like me to show you? I promised Mother I would practice cooking her recipes and since apples are in season, I’m sure you would love it. We could make it part of our reading sessions if you’d like.”

    Common sense would have Fenris decline Hawke's offer like he had done Varric's suggestion, but Fenris' sipping on the wine he hadn't intended to drink had turned him a fool.

    "I'd like that very much."

 


End file.
